A/N: Okay, I know I said that the chapters would come more frequently, but
honestly, could anyone have predicted the load of homework the teachers
would be assigning? I didn't. But, finally, chp 8 is here. So yes, I
acknowledge the fact that my previous statement was a load of s***. But
hey, look on the bright side, Spring Break is coming and in-between the
good clean fun I plan on having ::cough cough:: I hope to post at least
another chp. in this story and maybe two more in the other. We'll see.
Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure you guys have gotten the point. . .
Saetan anxiously watched the sand slip out of the hourglass, grain by grain, and sighed deeply. Raine had just that much time to come and if she was late this time, she could not participate. Just once, she had better be on time. It was never good to be left out of any debate, but the especially the first one in what could be a thriving career.
Putting a leash on his temper, the High Lord of Hell turned to face his five silent companions.
"Does anyone have any questions before we begin?" he asked, trying to fill the empty silence with the sound of his own voice.
"Yeah, I got one," Daemonar said, sitting up, "Why are we doing this, again?"
"Because," Saetan clipped temperamentally, "All of you are from prominent families and one day, if the Darkness is merciful it will still long in coming, you will inherit your parents' positions. I have hypothesized that future quarrels will not be solved by force, as they were during you parents' time, but by words. It is therefore imperative that you, as heirs to positions of power, learn to effectively debate issues of the day. This gives you practice."
They knew this, of course, but the High Lord repeated it anyway, at a loss of what to do.
"Well, let us begin then," he said slowly watching the final grains slip through the small hourglass, when suddenly the door opened to admit in the object of his anxiety.
"I'm not late, am I?" she asked delicately, "Because, you see, it's not my fault."
Saetan replied, "No it's okay-"
"'Cause Lucivar kept me after practice, and I TOLD him I had somewhere to be-"
"Like I said it's-"
"He said I incorporate too many gymnastics in my fighting, which he is clearly mistaken on-" she continued rapidly, oblivious to Daemonar's motions to shut up.
"That's great now-"
"And I said that I was just doing what I though was best-"
"Okay anyway-"
"Then he said that I jump around so much to balance out all the air in my head-"
"If you could just-"
"So naturally I couldn't let that stand."
"Course not, if we could begin!" the irritation was growing in the High Lord's voice.
"So then I tried to knock him down-"
"Raine, it's okay!"
"Do you know how hard it is to tackle an Eryien?"
"RAINE!" the thunder exploded out of Saetan's voice, filling the chamber with coldness and dread. Raine instantly lapsed into silence, wiping any expression off her face.
"Now," Saetan said, in control of himself once more, "Raine, you will join the team of Daemonar and Chlandra, who are debating against Meghana, Morton, and Luthvian. The issue today is whether the salt mines of Pruul should be closed for good. Daemonar's team will take the pro side, Morton's team the con. One minute to prepare."
"Excuse me, High Lord," Meghana's simpery voice rose above the murmurs of her team, "But I believe Raine's team needs to be penalized for the tardiness of one of its members."
Saetan's eyebrows arched in surprise at the witch's suggestion and he replied, "Well normally yes, but I don't believe that's necessary. Just because your parents don't require you to take any sort of physical defense doesn't mean that we can't be accommodating to other's schedules."
The High Lord's answer seemed to satisfy everyone in the room, except Meghana of course. Catching the green-jeweled witch's look of contempt, Raine angrily rose from her chair and blurted, "Wait High Lord, I think the prude bitch has something to say."
Five jaws dropped simultaneously at Raine's title of Meghana. Somewhere in the back of her brain, Raine regretted her rash action, but she was too fired up to care now.
Meghana, however, wasn't as stunned as her companions and rose from her seat as well, amber eyes flashing. She quickly retorted, "Well I would rather be prude than a dirty, filthy, cheap, disgusting, slut!"
The comment broke all of her self-control. Her life at that point would only be remembered in flashes. Like seeing Meghana's superior smirk, or the feeling of her hand curling into a fist. Or seeing herself storm over to her antagonist's table, or the touch of Daemonar trying to hold her back. Or maybe still when she saw her fist poised to strike and Meghana's face turn from confidence to shock. Then Meghana's feet were flying up behind her head and she was screaming, clutching an eye that was already swelling shut.
Reality forced itself back onto Raine with amazing clarity. She stood, gazing in horror at the aftermath of her rage. Then, without hesitation, as if she'd meant to do it all along, she turned and swept into the hallway and out of the Hall.
* Did you kill anyone yet?* Torsh's voice rang in her head. Over the months the two had become acquainted, the kai' tori had become very skilled at distinguishing her emotional states. He'd even gone so far as attempting to categorize some of them.
* No! Go away!* Raine replied fiercely.
* Have you let Meghana get to you again?* Torsh countered, ignoring her request.
* Yeah. . .and this time I laid her out.*
* Really?* the fire red dragon asked in surprise * Somebody's in trouble. . .*
* No shit*
* Hey, after you get forever banished from the Hall, I'll take you to Little Terrielle. It's the least I could do.*
In spite of herself, Raine smiled * You better watch yourself, my friend, or people might start thinking you've become fond of me or something*
* Yeah, don't mention it* he said, a sentence that could be interpreted two ways.
Still fuming, and still feeling ashamed, Raine ended up at the training arena. Lucivar was in a practice pit, putting the equipment away. Feeling the urge to kill something, she picked up the practice sword that was coincidentally at her feet.
"Hey Lucivar," she called, giving her opponent, and the target of her anger, barely enough notice before her attack. She charged into him, only mildly surprised that he was able to block her.
"Raine, you know I'm always excited to see you putting extra time into your weapons, but aren't you supposed to be in debate?
"Yeah," she grunted, blocking a cleave, "but stupid Meghana! She's just so. . .so. . .so. . .YOU know."
"Not you?" he supplied, smoothly maneuvering around the pit.
"umm. . .I was thinking 'evil' but I guess that works too."
Her momentary distraction cost her dearly. Lucivar easily slipped past her defense and "stabbed" her in the stomach. She pushed him away and began her attack anew. Lucivar patiently dueled with her, drawing out her anger and excess energy. Eventually exhausted, she collapsed onto the ground. . . until Lucivar reminded her to clean up her equipment.
Grumbling sulkily under her breath, she put her practice sword away and straightened up the rack weights she practiced with. Finishing her task, Raine left the supplies area and as surprised to see Morton nearby, practicing with a bow.
"What happened to the debate?" she asked softly, walking up to him.
"It was called due to bloodshed," he replied smoothly, but looking upon her stricken face, he gave her a small smile, "Don't worry too much about it. Janelle was pretty upset when she found out, but Daemonar explained the circumstances."
"That was nice of him," she said quietly, watching him nock another arrow. There was an awkward pause between the two as they watched Morton sink arrows into the center of the target.
"She should not have said that about you," Morton stated, for the first time giving her all of his attention.
Raine nodded her appreciation, unable to speak, and instead remained where she stood, watching the Dea al Mon prince's smooth grace as he accurately fired arrow after arrow.
"I'm surprised you haven't left yet," she said, at last breaking the silence, "Normally after a debate everyone's running in the opposite direction."
"My mother is still talking to Jaenelle," he answered, a catch in his voice, "I can't leave until she's done."
"She's been doing that a lot lately, is everything all right?"
"Of course, why wouldn't it be?" he replied, not meeting her gaze. Another arrow hit.
I don't know. I was just concerned. After all, it's not up to me to solve your problems."
His back straightened then and he gave her another small tight smile, "You really want to know?"
"Yes."
Morton paused in consideration and then, carefully setting down his bow, he sat down in the grass motioning her to sit beside him.
The Dea al Mon are a fiercely independent people, we rarely, if ever, accept help from outsiders," he began with a sight, "This is upheld because we've always been lead by a strong ruler. . . a strong Queen, more precisely."
Raine nodded in understanding and he continued, "But now a crisis has fallen upon my people that they never would've expected. . . I was born," Morton paused and, seeing her look of confusion, explained further, "The Dea al Mon want a Queen, they expect a Queen, and as is obvious, I can never be a Queen. That means the rulership would leave my family and pass on to the strongest jeweled witch in the territory."
"I see," Raine said at last.
"But there's more," Morton persisted, "The Queen of the Dea al Mon is meant to be the strongest of her people, and, if my people choose a new family to take the throne, their new witch would not be stronger than me. Therefore, some. . . radicals who are quickly gaining support, have proposed my exile."
Raine sat in consideration, letting the full weight of Morton's words sink in. She carefully analyzed everything he had said. . .and hadn't. When she spoke again, her eyes locked on to the Dea al Mon's and held them in her cool, frosty gaze.
"I could help you, you know," she whispered softly, so quietly that the words died almost as soon as they'd left her lips.
"How?" Morton immediately responded.
Her lips turned up into a mocking smile, similar to the one that continuously crossed Daemonar's face, and asked, "Do you really want to know?"
"Yes," he said, again no hesitation.
"I will help you gain the throne of the Dea al Mon; openly throwing my support behind you. The name of Witch's Heir has some immense weight to it, and with the aid of that name you will surely be pronounced the heir of the Dea al Mon people."
Morton thought about it, rolling the pros and cons over and over again in his mind. Finally he replied, "An intriguing offer. But what does the Lady want in return?"
Raine grinned, and said softly, putting emphasis on each word, "When you are the Warlord Prince, I want your promise that you will support me. For you see, I too go after a throne. . .that of Ebon Askavi."
"It can not be done!" Morton protested, letting his voice rise, "only Witch can be Queen of the Black Mountain and you are not she!"
"Who is to say whom can and can not claim Ebon Askavi?" Raine responded, allowing a deliberate calm to dominate her voice, "The one true Witch has announced a one true Heir, something never before done, I know, I've looked. Why then is it so unreasonable that the Heir should claim what her mentor had to give up?"
Morton shook his head, finally bringing the true question into light, "And once you're Queen? Then what? Will I gain the throne of my people only to be forced to swear fealty for the Queen of Ebon Askavi?"
Raine felt her temper slipping, "Oh? So now you think me evil, Dea al Mon prince? You think that I would use my title to create a tyranny, is that what you think of me? Speak! Has it yet crossed your mind that maybe I would do it for Kaeleer, for the land that gave me opportunity when I should have had none? For is it not true that a Queen in the seat of the Black Mountain represents a united Kaeleer and a united Kaeleer is invincible?"
"I think it's a little of both," he answered evenly, "but all the same there is truth in what you say. And no, I do not think you are evil, but through you great evil could be wielded," he sighed again, "But what choice do I have? I will join forces with you, if you would have me."
Keeping her face carefully neutral she said, "We have an agreement then?"
"We do."
He offered his hand to her and she responded eagerly, exchanging a firm clasp of the hands.
"For the future of the Dea al Mon," Morton murmured into the soft breeze that swirled around the two.
"For the continual peace of Kaeleer," Raine chimed in, releasing her hand. The setting sun slanted into her green eyes, revealing the fires of potential that burned inside her mind. The rising moon, pregnant with silvery light, hit the eyes of the Dea al Mon prince, giving his desperation a new blinding look.
"You may not have the best debate skills," he said at last, "But let it never be said you weren't ambitious."
Reflection says: The plot thickens. . .wait there was a plot? When did that happen? Oh well.
Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure you guys have gotten the point. . .
Saetan anxiously watched the sand slip out of the hourglass, grain by grain, and sighed deeply. Raine had just that much time to come and if she was late this time, she could not participate. Just once, she had better be on time. It was never good to be left out of any debate, but the especially the first one in what could be a thriving career.
Putting a leash on his temper, the High Lord of Hell turned to face his five silent companions.
"Does anyone have any questions before we begin?" he asked, trying to fill the empty silence with the sound of his own voice.
"Yeah, I got one," Daemonar said, sitting up, "Why are we doing this, again?"
"Because," Saetan clipped temperamentally, "All of you are from prominent families and one day, if the Darkness is merciful it will still long in coming, you will inherit your parents' positions. I have hypothesized that future quarrels will not be solved by force, as they were during you parents' time, but by words. It is therefore imperative that you, as heirs to positions of power, learn to effectively debate issues of the day. This gives you practice."
They knew this, of course, but the High Lord repeated it anyway, at a loss of what to do.
"Well, let us begin then," he said slowly watching the final grains slip through the small hourglass, when suddenly the door opened to admit in the object of his anxiety.
"I'm not late, am I?" she asked delicately, "Because, you see, it's not my fault."
Saetan replied, "No it's okay-"
"'Cause Lucivar kept me after practice, and I TOLD him I had somewhere to be-"
"Like I said it's-"
"He said I incorporate too many gymnastics in my fighting, which he is clearly mistaken on-" she continued rapidly, oblivious to Daemonar's motions to shut up.
"That's great now-"
"And I said that I was just doing what I though was best-"
"Okay anyway-"
"Then he said that I jump around so much to balance out all the air in my head-"
"If you could just-"
"So naturally I couldn't let that stand."
"Course not, if we could begin!" the irritation was growing in the High Lord's voice.
"So then I tried to knock him down-"
"Raine, it's okay!"
"Do you know how hard it is to tackle an Eryien?"
"RAINE!" the thunder exploded out of Saetan's voice, filling the chamber with coldness and dread. Raine instantly lapsed into silence, wiping any expression off her face.
"Now," Saetan said, in control of himself once more, "Raine, you will join the team of Daemonar and Chlandra, who are debating against Meghana, Morton, and Luthvian. The issue today is whether the salt mines of Pruul should be closed for good. Daemonar's team will take the pro side, Morton's team the con. One minute to prepare."
"Excuse me, High Lord," Meghana's simpery voice rose above the murmurs of her team, "But I believe Raine's team needs to be penalized for the tardiness of one of its members."
Saetan's eyebrows arched in surprise at the witch's suggestion and he replied, "Well normally yes, but I don't believe that's necessary. Just because your parents don't require you to take any sort of physical defense doesn't mean that we can't be accommodating to other's schedules."
The High Lord's answer seemed to satisfy everyone in the room, except Meghana of course. Catching the green-jeweled witch's look of contempt, Raine angrily rose from her chair and blurted, "Wait High Lord, I think the prude bitch has something to say."
Five jaws dropped simultaneously at Raine's title of Meghana. Somewhere in the back of her brain, Raine regretted her rash action, but she was too fired up to care now.
Meghana, however, wasn't as stunned as her companions and rose from her seat as well, amber eyes flashing. She quickly retorted, "Well I would rather be prude than a dirty, filthy, cheap, disgusting, slut!"
The comment broke all of her self-control. Her life at that point would only be remembered in flashes. Like seeing Meghana's superior smirk, or the feeling of her hand curling into a fist. Or seeing herself storm over to her antagonist's table, or the touch of Daemonar trying to hold her back. Or maybe still when she saw her fist poised to strike and Meghana's face turn from confidence to shock. Then Meghana's feet were flying up behind her head and she was screaming, clutching an eye that was already swelling shut.
Reality forced itself back onto Raine with amazing clarity. She stood, gazing in horror at the aftermath of her rage. Then, without hesitation, as if she'd meant to do it all along, she turned and swept into the hallway and out of the Hall.
* Did you kill anyone yet?* Torsh's voice rang in her head. Over the months the two had become acquainted, the kai' tori had become very skilled at distinguishing her emotional states. He'd even gone so far as attempting to categorize some of them.
* No! Go away!* Raine replied fiercely.
* Have you let Meghana get to you again?* Torsh countered, ignoring her request.
* Yeah. . .and this time I laid her out.*
* Really?* the fire red dragon asked in surprise * Somebody's in trouble. . .*
* No shit*
* Hey, after you get forever banished from the Hall, I'll take you to Little Terrielle. It's the least I could do.*
In spite of herself, Raine smiled * You better watch yourself, my friend, or people might start thinking you've become fond of me or something*
* Yeah, don't mention it* he said, a sentence that could be interpreted two ways.
Still fuming, and still feeling ashamed, Raine ended up at the training arena. Lucivar was in a practice pit, putting the equipment away. Feeling the urge to kill something, she picked up the practice sword that was coincidentally at her feet.
"Hey Lucivar," she called, giving her opponent, and the target of her anger, barely enough notice before her attack. She charged into him, only mildly surprised that he was able to block her.
"Raine, you know I'm always excited to see you putting extra time into your weapons, but aren't you supposed to be in debate?
"Yeah," she grunted, blocking a cleave, "but stupid Meghana! She's just so. . .so. . .so. . .YOU know."
"Not you?" he supplied, smoothly maneuvering around the pit.
"umm. . .I was thinking 'evil' but I guess that works too."
Her momentary distraction cost her dearly. Lucivar easily slipped past her defense and "stabbed" her in the stomach. She pushed him away and began her attack anew. Lucivar patiently dueled with her, drawing out her anger and excess energy. Eventually exhausted, she collapsed onto the ground. . . until Lucivar reminded her to clean up her equipment.
Grumbling sulkily under her breath, she put her practice sword away and straightened up the rack weights she practiced with. Finishing her task, Raine left the supplies area and as surprised to see Morton nearby, practicing with a bow.
"What happened to the debate?" she asked softly, walking up to him.
"It was called due to bloodshed," he replied smoothly, but looking upon her stricken face, he gave her a small smile, "Don't worry too much about it. Janelle was pretty upset when she found out, but Daemonar explained the circumstances."
"That was nice of him," she said quietly, watching him nock another arrow. There was an awkward pause between the two as they watched Morton sink arrows into the center of the target.
"She should not have said that about you," Morton stated, for the first time giving her all of his attention.
Raine nodded her appreciation, unable to speak, and instead remained where she stood, watching the Dea al Mon prince's smooth grace as he accurately fired arrow after arrow.
"I'm surprised you haven't left yet," she said, at last breaking the silence, "Normally after a debate everyone's running in the opposite direction."
"My mother is still talking to Jaenelle," he answered, a catch in his voice, "I can't leave until she's done."
"She's been doing that a lot lately, is everything all right?"
"Of course, why wouldn't it be?" he replied, not meeting her gaze. Another arrow hit.
I don't know. I was just concerned. After all, it's not up to me to solve your problems."
His back straightened then and he gave her another small tight smile, "You really want to know?"
"Yes."
Morton paused in consideration and then, carefully setting down his bow, he sat down in the grass motioning her to sit beside him.
The Dea al Mon are a fiercely independent people, we rarely, if ever, accept help from outsiders," he began with a sight, "This is upheld because we've always been lead by a strong ruler. . . a strong Queen, more precisely."
Raine nodded in understanding and he continued, "But now a crisis has fallen upon my people that they never would've expected. . . I was born," Morton paused and, seeing her look of confusion, explained further, "The Dea al Mon want a Queen, they expect a Queen, and as is obvious, I can never be a Queen. That means the rulership would leave my family and pass on to the strongest jeweled witch in the territory."
"I see," Raine said at last.
"But there's more," Morton persisted, "The Queen of the Dea al Mon is meant to be the strongest of her people, and, if my people choose a new family to take the throne, their new witch would not be stronger than me. Therefore, some. . . radicals who are quickly gaining support, have proposed my exile."
Raine sat in consideration, letting the full weight of Morton's words sink in. She carefully analyzed everything he had said. . .and hadn't. When she spoke again, her eyes locked on to the Dea al Mon's and held them in her cool, frosty gaze.
"I could help you, you know," she whispered softly, so quietly that the words died almost as soon as they'd left her lips.
"How?" Morton immediately responded.
Her lips turned up into a mocking smile, similar to the one that continuously crossed Daemonar's face, and asked, "Do you really want to know?"
"Yes," he said, again no hesitation.
"I will help you gain the throne of the Dea al Mon; openly throwing my support behind you. The name of Witch's Heir has some immense weight to it, and with the aid of that name you will surely be pronounced the heir of the Dea al Mon people."
Morton thought about it, rolling the pros and cons over and over again in his mind. Finally he replied, "An intriguing offer. But what does the Lady want in return?"
Raine grinned, and said softly, putting emphasis on each word, "When you are the Warlord Prince, I want your promise that you will support me. For you see, I too go after a throne. . .that of Ebon Askavi."
"It can not be done!" Morton protested, letting his voice rise, "only Witch can be Queen of the Black Mountain and you are not she!"
"Who is to say whom can and can not claim Ebon Askavi?" Raine responded, allowing a deliberate calm to dominate her voice, "The one true Witch has announced a one true Heir, something never before done, I know, I've looked. Why then is it so unreasonable that the Heir should claim what her mentor had to give up?"
Morton shook his head, finally bringing the true question into light, "And once you're Queen? Then what? Will I gain the throne of my people only to be forced to swear fealty for the Queen of Ebon Askavi?"
Raine felt her temper slipping, "Oh? So now you think me evil, Dea al Mon prince? You think that I would use my title to create a tyranny, is that what you think of me? Speak! Has it yet crossed your mind that maybe I would do it for Kaeleer, for the land that gave me opportunity when I should have had none? For is it not true that a Queen in the seat of the Black Mountain represents a united Kaeleer and a united Kaeleer is invincible?"
"I think it's a little of both," he answered evenly, "but all the same there is truth in what you say. And no, I do not think you are evil, but through you great evil could be wielded," he sighed again, "But what choice do I have? I will join forces with you, if you would have me."
Keeping her face carefully neutral she said, "We have an agreement then?"
"We do."
He offered his hand to her and she responded eagerly, exchanging a firm clasp of the hands.
"For the future of the Dea al Mon," Morton murmured into the soft breeze that swirled around the two.
"For the continual peace of Kaeleer," Raine chimed in, releasing her hand. The setting sun slanted into her green eyes, revealing the fires of potential that burned inside her mind. The rising moon, pregnant with silvery light, hit the eyes of the Dea al Mon prince, giving his desperation a new blinding look.
"You may not have the best debate skills," he said at last, "But let it never be said you weren't ambitious."
Reflection says: The plot thickens. . .wait there was a plot? When did that happen? Oh well.